My Existence, My Memories
by RishiGenki
Summary: The first thing that he remembers, Peter pretends, is waking up in the sea. A few drabbles connected to each other with the basis being Peter Kirkland. Oneshot.


Sealand doesn't remember anything before nineteen sixty seven.

He doesn't remember anything before his prince, Prince Roy, the man who pulled him up from the sea as if he was drowning. Which was funny to little Peter, because he doesn't _remember_ drowning, nor does he remember how he got in the ocean in the first place. But he was there, trying to catch his breath and coughing, spitting up salty ocean water as the man above him rubs his back in soothing circles, commanding him to _breathe, breathe lad, there's a good boy, you'll be fine_.

When he finally stopped choking, Peter opened his blue eyes and caught sight of his Prince, and large, dark, metal pillars looming above him. It was in that prime moment that he knew what he was. He didn't remember anything, but he knew what he was.

He was that thing, up there. He was that platform of rust and metal, just striving for larger things. He knew immediately that he was different - but he knew nothing of what he _had_ been. All he knew was _now_.

He was '_Peter_'.

There was nothing else at that point.

'

His prince is the kindest. The man had pulled him out from the sea and brought him up, took care of him until Peter could tell him exactly what he was - though he couldn't tell him anything but the name 'Peter', and that _was_ all that he was, because he was this platform, this _thing_ that didn't even know another name to go by. The name he had before had been lost to the sands of his memory, the gaps swirling and sucking out all that he could remember.

When he manages to speak, he asks where they are. The man above him, his future prince, looks up at the sky and takes a few moments to speak.

"_Roughs tower. Abandoned by the British, and my new home for my family."_

And Peter understands immediately that he was not only Peter - but also 'Roughs'. The name tastes funny on his tongue, like dirt and bile and blood, and he doesn't like it at all.

"_I don't like that name much, sir," _he responds honestly to Roy Bates. "_I'd much prefer to think of this as the land on the sea…why not name it that, then?_"

And just like that, the platform is transformed into Sealand, a place with a bright eyed, tiny blond child who never seems to understand just how to give up.

Perhaps, Peter thinks, it's better that way. Roughs is such an undignified name, tasting of bad memories and hatred.

Of loneliness.

'

They try to find his family, the Bates family does try.. They think that he's lost, that he needs to find his home. The Bates continue for days on end, asking him questions about where he came from, why he was so far out at sea, and why he was all alone.

And it frustrates Peter because he _is_ at his home and this is _his_ family, a surge of protectiveness and desperation running through his bones as he tries so hard to explain to them that he has had no home before this.

And then, a few days later, a man with wavy blond hair, a stubble to his chin, and understanding, sad blue eyes makes his way to the platform, and calmly explains to the Bates that Peter was telling the truth - that he was, essentially, this little platform.

There was more to what he said, but Peter can't remember. It's lost in the murkiness of his early memories.

Maybe it's better that way.

'

The next person like him - something not human - makes his way to the platform a few days after the other man - _no, Francis_, Peter has to recall. _His name is _Francis_, and he lives south of here, in a country of roses and wine. _

_He looked at me like I was a ghost. But his name is Francis._

It take a long time, but then Sealand notices. There was someone coming closer, from the coast that he could see on a clear day, in a little mucked up dinghy of a boat. And something pulled Peter to that person, a bond that he didn't understand, a metallic sound ringing through his body. His head began to ache, hurting more and more as the boat drew closer, and it seemed to take an eternity for it to finally arrive.

He blinks up at the figure as the man approaches, boat tied to one of the pillars that kept Sealand afloat. It was someone who looked much like him - too much like him, Peter thinks, with spiked blond hair and green eyes. And the eyebrows, so much like his own. Peter's hands immediately shoot up to touch at the aformented brows. But there's something else, something that Peter is missing, that makes the two far more alike then he would ever admit to. And then it hits him.

Such sad eyes, Peter finally realizes.

They're so much like his own.

'

It takes a long time for this man to speak. They stare at each other, sea blue eyes bordering into moss green ones, before green shifts away and looks towards another blue, the never ending sky. He licks his lips and parts his lips as a quivering voice spills from that seemingly strong body.

"I thought, after all this time, you would have found peace in the next world. It's been eleven years, yet you're still here."

And Peter doesn't understand, because he doesn't remember this person. He doesn't remember anything from before nineteen fifty six, an so he asks.

"Who are you?"

And something breaks in this man, something snaps and hardens up in those trembling, strong shoulders as he looks back down at the child. Lips turn upwards into a smile, but it's a bitter, lonely one, and Peter can tell. But before Sealand can say anything more, England cuts him off with something bitter and angry, but not directed at Peter.

"Arthur Kirkland. And you're Peter Kirkland, my little brother...at least, you used to be."

And there is something so sad in Arthur's words, something desperate and grappling and Peter suddenly _wants_ to remember before, he wants to remember so he stops making this person so sad.

But he doesn't. He can't remember how. And Arthur Kirkland leaves, just turns his back and wordlessly boards his boat.

It's something so familiar, something Peter can almost, but not quite, grasp.

'

And then there is loneliness.

But maybe it's better that way, for Arthur.

'

That night, as he's staring up at the ceiling, sleep alluding him, Peter tries to think back. And he realizes that, if he tries very hard, he can remember before the point of the sun meeting the sea with his Prince staring down at him. He can remember, murky as they were, the memories of darker days.

So he spends that entire night trying to remember, eyes shut tight as he twisted and writhered on the old army cot.

Memories of a sad blue eyed man with a stubble on his cheek, stroking the tears away from his cheek as Peter cries, cries and cries and it _hurts_, make it stop, _please_.

Of days and weeks and months alone, huddled under a table, hungry and trembling away, as even more faded memories of boots run through his starved mind, of happier times, with moss meeting the sea and smiles all around the table.

Of his body hitting the cold sea like a thousand needles piercing his body as he was consumed by the dark waters.

He remembers dying quite clearly.

And the wave of pain suddenly rushes up to his throat, as he starts to get sick. He has to rush up to the deck before puking into the sea, stars twinkling down at him and mocking his pain, for the entire world to see.

The memories full of pain and misunderstandings, of nights calling out for someone, anyone, to come and save him. Rusting and decay swamp his ams and body as he pleads for someone to save him from the darkness.

Peter pretends from that day on that he doesn't remember that.

It's safer l that way.

'

And he laughs, and he smiles and he's finally feeling _alive_. He gets to play every day, with the Bates daughters and the son, Michel. He gets scolded and eats good food, he gets tucked in by his Princess and receives a kiss on the forehead every night, with well wishings for sweet dreams.

But he doesn't grow. Even as the years pass and the Bates children change with age, Peter doesn't. And soon there is no one close to his age, no one to play with or cuddle. Soon, he stops asking for lullabies because he shouldn't ask for them, because he knows that even though he looks like this, he realizes that he's far older then anyone else on the platform and he can't be selfish, because he knows if he asks for too much they'll _leave_ him.

He doesn't understand why the feeling is there, but it twists and wrenches in his gut. It's something so familiar that he can't push it away. It twists and knots in his stomach until he can't take it anymore, and he breaks down, sobbing and pleading in the cold darkness of the night, whispering as his fingers crunch up into the sheets, pillow being doused over with the salty ocean's tears.

_Don't go, don't go, don't go_, he sobs silently to himself as his shoulders buck up._ Please don't go, I'll do anything. Please don't leave me all alone, I'm sorry, I'll make you proud_.

'

Francis mentions to him, once, as Peter waits outside for the meetings to end, that he shouldn't get too close with humans, because they'll leave. That it hurts no matter what.

But Peter already knew that. He also knows that he can't get too close to nations, either.

'

The only people who didn't change, year after year like that, were nations. Peter had learned the name of his kind. And he becomes attached to that. He wants to be with them, every day, so he doesn't have to remember that his family is growing and dying, that slowly but surely they'll leave his fort, leave him to rust and decay again until those memories swallow him back up.

And Peter finds people that accept him.

But somehow, it's not enough. Not when Arthur is standing there, a far off gaze on his face, thick brows furrowed in his direction.

Peter found his acceptance. But the abandonment, in his realization, is still as fresh in Arthur's mind as it is in his. Even though Peter claims he doesn't remember, he does. It plays itself in his mind, over and over.

That's why he tries to push Arthur's buttons. To know, to _remind_ him, that he was still here. He was alive, alive and healthy and nothing Arthur can do will ever make up for the things he's done.

And it hurts both of them. And he knows that.

But Arthur needs to remember his existence.

They both do.

'

**-fin**


End file.
